American Yakuza

By Isabella

Luce Potter straddles three cultures as she strives to live with the ideals of family, honor, and duty. When her grandfather passes the family business to her, Luce finds out that power, responsibility and justice come with a price. Is it a price she’s willing to die for?

Brooke Erickson lives the fast-paced life of an investigative journalist living on the edge until it all comes crashing down around her one night in Europe. Stateside, Brooke learns to deal with a new reality when she goes to work at a financial magazine and finds out things aren’t always as they seem.

Can two women find enough common ground for love or will their two different worlds and cultures keep them apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sapphire Books Publishing , LLC
• Release date: Aug 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9780982860885

Isabella

Award winning, international best selling author, Isabella, lives in California with her wife and three sons. Isabella's first novel, Always Faithful, won a GCLS award in the Traditional Contemporary Romance category in 2010. She was also a finalist in the International Book Awards, and an Honorable Mention in the 2010 and 2012 Rainbow Awards.She is a member of the Rainbow Romance Writers, Romance Writers of America and the Gold Crown Literary Society. She has written several short stories and just finished her next novel, Razor's Edge - American Yakuza III, set for an April 15th release. She is current working on Cigar Barons - A family dynasty where blood isn't thicker than water, it's war!

Book preview

Chapter One

Her razor sharp stiletto buried between his eyes. The blade’s mirrored finish reflected the faint light in the dimly lit booth. Pure luck had driven the lethal point to that perfect spot, but Luce would take what little satisfaction that provided. Luce squeezed harder, feeling the pain in her heart intensify as the blade bit into her palm. Her hand slipped off the handle and slid partway down the finely honed metal. No matter how tightly she grasped the edge, it didn’t keep her from falling into the dark pit that held her heart.

Kaida. The urgent whisper pulled Luce from her haze. Nye.

Kaida, your hand. Luce opened her eyes and stared down at the scattered photos on the table, blood pooling on the face of her father.

Too bad it isn’t for real, Luce whispered.

Your hand, it bleeds. Please. The waitress reached for Luce’s bloody hand, wrapping a rag around the cut, clucking like a mother hen at her chick. Why did you do this? Who hurt you so bad you want to hurt yourself?

Stop mothering me, Auntie. Luce looked up at the older Korean woman, thinking of her mother.

She wasn’t really Luce’s aunt, but the woman had been her mother’s best friend. Therefore, Luce gave her the respect of an aunt.

Someone has to look out for you.

I have my grandfather. He watches.

How is the Oyabun?

Shall I send your respects?

Bah, he already knows how I feel about him.

Yes, I’m sure he does. Luce examined her hand. The cut wasn’t so bad, nothing a couple of stitches wouldn’t fix. Later. Auntie, bring me some Soju and a few napkins. The waitress raised her eyebrows and scowled. Please?

Of course, Kaida.

Thank you.

Examining the photos, Luce extracted the bloody one and tossed it aside. She didn’t want it corrupting the beautiful memories the others invoked. Luce’s heart ached as she looked at the young smile of her mother. She barely saw it anymore when she closed her eyes. Twenty-five years had a way of etching new memories over old ones if you aren’t careful, her grandfather had said when she was young.

She will always live here, Kaida. Always. She felt his fingers thumping her chest even now as she remembered that day.

Her nose tingled as tears filled her eyes. Blinking several times, she tried to stop the watery tribute to her mother’s memory, but the photos brought back fresh pain. One day her father would pay for her mother’s death, family or not. She would make sure of it.

"Sa bum nim."

"Nye."

A different waitress approached the table. She bowed before placing a frosted glass in front of Luce and poured her drink. Luce made a cutting signal and downed the drink in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol couldn’t erase the pain in her chest, but would assuage it temporarily. Nodding her head towards the waitress, Luce waited as her glass was refilled, then watched her leave.

How is your hand, Kaida?

Auntie, don’t spend your time worrying about me. I’ll be fine. Sit. Luce pounded the bench next to her and commanded, Tell me, do you remember these photos?

Luce hoped that the old woman would be able to give her some history or at least add to her dwindling memories of her mother. Watching her aunt pull out reading glasses and squint at the photos, she remembered a time when she would listen to her mother and auntie speak in Korean.

"I’m practicing, honey." Luce’s mom said, patting her head.

The hypnotic sounds rolled around her head as she tried to pick out words her mother had taught her, but the two women spoke so fast that the best Luce could manage was one or two words. Luce closed her eyes and smiled, trying to remember the sound of her mother’s melodic voice. A Korean children’s song filtered through her mind, its soft melody caressed the memory and then was gone.

Your mother was beautiful. You look exactly like her. Her aunt’s smile faded. Except for the eyes, you have his eyes.

Her grandfather had nicknamed her his little Jade Kaida or jade little dragon, because of her eyes. They were the one thing that singled out her Caucasian heritage and a constant reminder of him. A gift she couldn’t return even if she tried.

I know, Auntie. I know. Luce swallowed another mouthful of the burning liquid, hoping it would finally dull her brain to the point of forgetting, if even for a few hours.

After spreading the photos around, Luce’s aunt picked through them and finally pulled a few out. She held up a photo in front of Luce. This one was taken when we were in downtown. The bonsai festival. Oh, she loved bonsai trees. The way they were trained, the discipline and time it took to get the miniature tree to look like its bigger brothers. As her aunt flipped to the next photo, Luce squinted her eyes and smiled. This one—this one was when you were only four years old. Every time she took you out, the old women of the park would stop and point. I think it bothered her, but she never complained.

Luce pulled the photo from her aunt’s hand and studied it. Her heart ached for her mother. If she could hold her mother’s hand or kiss her goodnight one more time. Her body relaxed as memories enveloped her. The nightly ritual of brushing her hair before Luce went to bed or the conversations they shared while sitting alone in her grandfather’s garden would stay with her long after her mother’s death. Luce’s shoulders sagged under the weight of her emotional memories. Like the photos, they were all she had now.

She closed her eyes and took another long pull of her Soju. The rawness of the alcohol burned as she swallowed it down, and in another stinging gulp she had finished the bottle. Nodding for more, she grabbed at the stabbing pain in her palm, now another painful memory courtesy of her father.

The aroma of bulgolgi, the sweet Korean BBQ meat, filled the room as a hot, cast-iron plate was placed on the edge of the table.

More Soju, Luce ordered. Her aunt raised her eyebrows in disapproval. Please, Luce said. Her head bowed slightly at the request.

Kaida.

Auntie.

Kaida.

Luce paused a moment before she responded again, weighing her options. Honor, respect and duty were all lessons she had learned early in life. Now that she was the one in command she rarely backed down, but for her aunt she would show respect.

You must not dishonor your mother, Kaida. She loved you so much.

Nye. I’m sorry if I have dishonored her in anyway, Auntie. Luce cast her eyes down and bowed her head. She felt a quick thump to her head and held her place. Suddenly, her aunt pulled Luce tightly into her arms and said softly, You must let go of your anger, Kaida. You are like a daughter to me and it would wound my heart if something happened to you.

Luce leaned her head on her aunt’s shoulder and reached around to hug her aging body. It had been so long since a woman like her mother had hugged her that she almost wept. Her body rocked slightly back and forth in comfort. Luce tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat almost choked her. Clearing her throat, she pulled away from her aunt and patted the woman’s hands.

I’ll be okay, Auntie. Luce smiled, but she knew the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was only for her aunt’s benefit. The tepid reassurance was all she could give at the moment without lying.

I need to get back to work. She motioned to the pictures. Bring them with you when you come back and I’ll look at them again. Perhaps this old mind will remember more by then.

Luce smiled. Her aunt’s mind was sharp as a tack, but perhaps the photos were hard for her to look at, too.

I will, Auntie. Luce maneuvered her chopsticks, grabbing some kimchi and dropping it onto her rice. Next time, you’ll sit and eat with me. Right?

Of course, Kaida. Of course.

After a motherly pat on the head, Luce was left with a steaming skillet of beef, a table full of kimchi, memories, and a searing pain in her hand that almost numbed her heart.

Chapter Two

Sliding into the turn, the tires provided just enough traction to keep Brooke from losing control. She loved her new Mercedes Roadster, but she loved pushing it through its paces even more. The classes at the driving school in Laguna Seca had probably done less to harness her enthusiasm for speed and more to push her limits. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as she braked briefly for the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. She made a quick check to her left—all clear. An even quicker glance to her right showed an empty curve. Punching it, she peeled out of the stop and fishtailed on to the rising grade. Her arms tingled as she gripped the steering wheel, white knuckles pulling the hundred thousand dollar car back onto to the pavement. Music blared through the expensive speakers and reverberated through her body, adding to the excitement she already felt.

Out of the corner of her eye a flash in the rearview mirror caught her attention. A motorcycle streaked within inches of her door. The driver hugged the metal monster, now sliding sideways in front of her car. Brooke slammed on her brakes and gasped when the back wheel of the bike bucked into the air, like a horse trying to dislodge its rider. Miraculously, the driver rode the front tire a few more feet and dropped the back tire solidly on the ground. She was amazed when the bike finally stopped in the middle of the road. Brooke’s car jerked to a stop only a few feet from where the driver straddled the raging machine. The engine issued a throaty protest as its rider gunned the throttle then turned it off.

Brooke sat stunned as the long body of the driver unfolded off the bike and dropped the kickstand. The tall, sinewy figure looked as though it had been dipped in black leather, the bodysuit conforming to every ridge and muscle on the rider’s body. When the rider turned Brooke got her first view of a very feminine form stomping towards her. She cringed as the woman punched her hand into her palm with each step, moving closer.

Oh fuck. Brooke gripped the steering wheel tighter trying to control the fear coursing through her body. Had she missed seeing the motorcycle at the last turn? Did she cut the rider off and was she now going to have to endure a tongue-lashing from the clearly angry motorcyclist? Her day had been going so well and now this. Slowly, without taking her eyes off the angry woman, she reached over and blindly reached for her purse. She wanted her cell phone close in case anything happened. No purse. Brooke eyed the passenger seat. The wayward bag was now on the floorboard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She glanced back at the driver, shocked when the woman took out a cell phone and snapped her picture.

What the hell? Brooke flipped up her sunglasses to see the rider better.

The driver slipped the cell phone back into her motorcycle boot and approached the driver’s door. Brooke hit the door locks and sealed herself in the car. Desperate for an escape, she briefly contemplated sideswiping the motorcycle to make her exit, but she was damned if she was going to let this lunatic intimidate her.

She glared at the helmeted face as the driver motioned for her to roll down the window. Brooke shook her head. No way she was going to do anything of the kind. The rider nodded and tossed up her tinted visor, displaying only dark sunglasses and a perspiring upper lip. Once more the rider motioned for Brooke to roll down the window, and once again Brooke said no. In a split second, Brooke was covered in chunks of safety glass. She sat frozen in her seat. What the hell? Her breathing quickened and her fight or flight response kicked in. She focused on the motorcycle again and heard a low voice trembling with anger.

Don’t even think about it. You almost killed me back there and if you hit my bike, you’ll most certainly be sorry.

Before she could do anything, the woman reached in and grabbed her keys. Still stunned from the smashed window, Brooke was too afraid to move. If the woman could punch the window out of her brand new car, god only knew what else she would do if pushed.

Stupid little rich bitches like you get people killed. Daddy bought you a new car and you have to take it out and drive like a maniac. You were probably texting all your little girlfriends about your new ride and couldn’t wait to show it off.

The low, menacing tone vibrated through Brooke as she realized the rider stood practically next to her. A chill crawled down her back and she thought she might wet herself. All that’s missing is a redneck tow truck driver and banjo music, she thought. For the first time Brooke feared for her life, but she was damned if she was going to give this woman the courtesy of seeing it.

I didn’t see you, Brooke whispered.

You didn’t see me because you were too busy playing with your new toy.

Brooke tried to ignore her body’s response, but she was starting to shake as she held on to the steering wheel. Releasing the death grip she had on the wheel, she dropped her hands to her lap hoping to control the trembling.

She whispered again, I’m really sorry. I honestly didn’t see you back there.

Hmm.

Brooke stared, wishing she were anywhere but here, as the woman walked to the front and then back to the driver’s door looking the car over. She flinched when she saw the woman reach for something else in her boot. Relax. You’re going to get that glass replaced and a tow truck.

A tow truck? Why do I need a tow…?

Before Brooke could finish her sentence, the lanky woman tossed her keys over the embankment on the side of the road.

Because I don’t want to see you in my rearview mirror when I leave. Consider it my gift to you. Otherwise, I might have to take you out of that car and spank your ass. A slight smile peaked up at the corner of her helmet opening. Shrugging, she handed Brooke two cards: A card for the auto club and a business card. In case you want to sue me, I want you to spell my name correctly. Have a good afternoon, Miss.

Brooke released the breath she was holding and watched as the rider slammed her visor down, straddled her bike, and started the raging machine. Pulling the throttle, the woman made a point of leaving a tire slick in the middle of the road as she popped the front tire off the ground and rode the wheelie up the grade for a short distance.

Arrogant bitch, Brooke said. Willing her body to relax, she dropped her chin to her chest and took a deep breath. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so scared. Picking up the cards in her lap, Brooke flicked the corners and studied them.

Great, just great.

Chapter Three

Luce turned onto a dirt road and skidded to a stop. She dropped the kickstand and slid off her bike. Her body shook violently causing her to fall to her knees. Pulling the quick snap on her helmet, she tossed it off and gasped for breath. Cold, hard fear seized her heart and squeezed it tighter and tighter. Her lungs felt bottomless as she tried to catch her breath, leaning over farther and clutching at the loose dirt. Oxygen barely filtered from her lungs to her brain, so her grasp on reality was starting to wane. Bright reds and blues dotted her vision, a sure sign she was going to pass out if she didn’t get control. She tried to calm herself taking slow, methodical breaths.

Sitting back on her feet, Luce couldn’t believe her luck. She had dodged cars before, but never had she come that close to losing her life. Her body’s visceral reaction to the near collision made her break out in a sweat. She wiped at the wet wisps of hair that stuck to her face. Her leathers did a great job protecting her body from possible road rash, but it did little to keep her cool. Looking around to make sure prying eyes wouldn’t be a problem, she unzipped the top of her leathers and peeled them down to her waist, exposing her bra. Tossing off her gloves, Luce flexed her right hand and studied the bruise starting to form on her knuckles. She shook her head wondering how she could lose her temper so quickly. She was trained to control her emotions no matter the situation, but her temper had gotten the best of her on occasion. Today it flared—no, spiked out of control. Without thinking she had broken out the window of the car that nearly killed her, and then tossed the woman’s keys down the embankment. What would her grandfather have to say about it all, assuming she even told him?

Luce wondered if the woman would call the police. No matter, she had a relationship with a few officers who would let her know if something came through channels. Still, replaying the situation over in her head, Luce was surprised she was even alive. Closing her eyes she relived the vivid memory of coming around the corner to find the red Mercedes right in front of her. Only a couple of yards separated them and the way Luce was eating up pavement, she was sure she would hit the damn thing. Her reaction was instinctive. She had stepped on the back brake first and then leaned left, pointing her front tire right at the car, and sending her into a sideways skid. If she was going to hit the car she wanted to hit it broadside and not head on. At least she had a chance of surviving the crash that way. Lucky for Luce, the woman punched the gas when she peeled out of the stop and probably saved Luce’s life. Anger replaced fear as she remembered going around the red roadster. She recalled seeing the woman as she went by. Luce recognized the driver as a reporter who had been hounding her for a story on her company, Kaida Enterprise. She had turned the reporter down and now here she was, practically making her road kill.

Leaning against the seat of her bike, Luce reached down and pulled her phone from her boot. She thumbed through it and brought up the pictures she had taken of the car and the woman. Spreading her fingers cross the screen brought the woman’s face into focus. What was her name? Luce thought. Grinding her teeth, she squinted at the face and tried to remember. It was no use, she couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but she always remembered a face. In her business she couldn’t afford to forget the face of an enemy. While this woman wasn’t an enemy, she’d almost taken the one thing her grandfather had always told her to protect.

My Jade Kaida, he said looking into her green eyes. You have only one treasure you must always protect. Trust it to no one and don’t lose sight of it."

"What’s that grandfather?" a young Luce questioned. She looked down at their intertwined fingers as he led her around his manicured gardens. It had become their ritual after having tea.

"You’re life, my young Kaida."

Luce smiled at the memory of the only family she had remaining—the only family she recognized. She would see her grandfather on Sunday, as she had for the last few years. He was her mentor, her friend, and only connection to a mother she had lost many years ago. Likewise, she was his connection to her mother. They shared a bond like no other and she cherished it.

She raised her eyes to the sun beating down upon her, sweat still dripping down inside her leathers. It was time to get home and take a shower. She had a meeting with the chiefs in her organization tonight and the events of the day had primed her.

Chapter Four

Brooke stalked into her editor’s office and tossed her purse across the room onto the plush leather sofa with a thud. Slamming herself down on the cool surface of the sofa, she threw her arm across her mouth and stifled a scream. Investigative journalism had taken on a new slant: How to get the interviewee to sit for an interview with the reporter who almost killed her. News at eleven, she thought. A scowl replaced her usually calm exterior. Closing her eyes, she wished she could crawl back under her covers and start her week all over again. The new Mercedes was in the shop, and a crappy loaner sat parked in its spot in the parking garage. Sitting up Brooke pulled the business card out of her purse and flicked its edges. Life wasn’t fair, she thought for the twentieth time that day.

She had traded the glamorous life of investigative journalism for the more stable life of a journalist stateside. Mucking through the countryside in Europe to follow leads on the new gangster elite had been tougher than she’d imagined. The rise of capitalism in the dregs of the fallen Soviet Union, and other communist countries, had created a subculture of American-style gangsters. Living the fast life, throwing money around like prepubescent teenagers with their first paychecks, driving fast cars and carrying big guns all made for an interesting story, for a while. However, it had quickly lost its appeal when her photographer Mike Waters was shot and killed behind the Orsha Linen Mill in Orsha, Belarus. Brooke had no idea what she was stepping into when she had started the investigation and now wished she hadn’t heard of Kolenka Petrov.

Too afraid of the eyes and ears in and around Moscow, their informant requested that they meet at the linen factory in Orsha. The town was considered the gateway between Western Europe and Moscow. Orsha was an easy in and out for anyone traveling by train. The informant said he could provide them with names and information on the new transnational organized crime groups establishing themselves outside of Moscow. Petrov’s money allowed the groups to set up operations in places like San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago, Manhattan, Cyprus, Canada and a host of other foreign countries. Establishing legitimate businesses like trucking, import-export and oil and gas operations, the bigger crime groups were able to send out the younger thugs who wanted to make a name for themselves to do their dirty work. Trafficking in prostitution, car theft, contract killings and extortion, their notorious reputations preceded them. Follow the money, Brooke had been told, and she did, all the way to Orsha. She had a bad feeling about the meeting, but Mike had persuaded her to go. They’d invested so many hours and months on the story that he didn’t want her to blow a great opportunity at a Pulitzer Prize.

Brooke felt a chill descend on her just as she did the night Mike was killed. She rubbed her arms and tried not